


Burn Their Bodies

by resplendentCaballer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Burning things, Cross-dressing Septons, F/M, Highway robbery, Multi, flaying, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1432222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resplendentCaballer/pseuds/resplendentCaballer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman is on a journey to the North and meets some interesting people on the way.  A Septa seeks quiet revenge for the death of her niece with the help of her cross-dressing male companion.  A comedy, a romance, and a horror story all wrapped up in a nice satchel made of human skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

Reyne Rowan always loved the scent of freshly overturned dirt in the gardens, the times when the farmers were planting new crop and the soil was fresh and new.  She'd take her horse -- a pure-white mare named Buttercup -- for a ride in the countryside on the days when she knew the farmers would be tilling their fields.  She rarely needed an escort on these sorts of excursions, the Reach was rarely so dangerous to need armed guards.  Only when there had been word of highwaymen did she travel with soldiers, and there had been no word of highway crime on the Roseroad as of late.

 

She remembered hearing people talking with her father about how low the crime was becoming in his realm.  Even the common thieves seemed to have up and disappeared.  Beggars had stopped gathering at the gates, seemingly sinking back into their holes.  Her father had dismissed it, and told his men to keep their usual routine.  Reyne thought it was delightful.  Things weren't so bad in the land anymore, especially considering the dreadful happenings in the North, what with the war and killing of the dreadful traitor king Robb Stark.

 

The North had always been a mystery to her.  Reyne had never been further north than King's Landing, and that was a long time ago when she was younger.  She remembered hating it, the stench of waste and sweat that permeated the air and choked the lungs.  No amount of lavender oil could cover the vicious scent and it stuck to her hair and clothes for weeks after she returned.

 

As she rode leisurely down the Roseroad, she waved to farmers as they tilled their fields and gave them cheerful greetings and a wish of good luck.  The fort guards had told her to steer clear of the forested areas, that they'd had a bad feeling about the lack of crime, that it would be the calm before some sort of storm.  Reyne brushed them off.  The forest was far too small for any sort of brigand gang to hide in, and patrols were sent through on a routine basis.  Besides, the family that was kind and always gave her a bowl of soup every time she visited in exchange for a few coppers lived on the other side of that wood.  She certainly couldn't pass them up just because of some boy's warning.

 

It would be one of her last times being able to visit them, anyway.  Her father had received a letter from the north and apparently he'd found a husband for her up in the North.  It was apparently one of the Stark Bannermen that had rebelled against the false king at the Twins.  Reyne wasn't sure how she felt about that, especially when she had to leave the Reach, but her father's decision was final.  She'd be sent up north in a few months for her wedding.

 

She entered the wood, proceeding carefully and exercising caution not to hit her head on an errant branch.  The forest wasn't too dark that day, but for some reason it felt more alone that it usually did.  However, that loneliness must've been an illusion, for she came across someone collapsed at the side of the road.

 

Reyne coaxed her horse to a stop and dismounted, adjusting her necklace as it went off-center.  "Miss?  Are you alright?" she said, leaning down and flipping over the body.

 

It was a woman, a tiny woman with hair mussed enough that if she were further north she could be mistaken for a wildling.  Her features had a shade of Dorne in them, but she could pass for a woman of the Reach if she wanted.  The fabrics of her clothing were just a mite too fine for someone of the small folk.  Perhaps a prostitute or a noblewoman who'd been on the road for many months would have clothes like hers.

 

Reyne was wary of the woman at first, but when she opened her eyes, she could tell traveler was in sincere distress.  Her eyes widened and for a second she studied Reyne in bewilderment before it turned to desperation.  "Oh, m'lady, you must be careful out here in the woods!" the woman cried, eyes wild as she gripped Reyne's dress.  "Thieves, rapists, and marauders everywhere!"

 

Three strong hands grabbed Reyne while a fourth covered her mouth, the scent of leather and sweat filling her lungs.  She gasped and tried to maneuver away from the brigand, but only got manhandled further.  Tears welled in her eyes.

 

The woman stood up and brushed the dirt off her travelling gear before pulling a knife from her belt.  "Ooh, she's a perfect lit'l lady, ain't she?" the Dornish woman drawled.  "She's got that teeny lit'l waist like me..." she grinned, showcasing her missing teeth, two on the top, one on the bottom.  "Hold 'er down while I take 'er clothes."

 

Rayne struggled as the two men held her down.  One man was large with a pockmarked face, his head shaved smooth.  That one didn't meet her eyes, but the other one was a decidedly girlish man, with hair that fell past his ears and a smooth face, but he looked at her coldly, his eyes boring into hers with a million different vulgar emotions.  Both of them reeked of blood like they carried exposed viscera with them.  Rayne kicked as the Dornish woman's hands reached into her dress and groped for the ties to loosen it.

 

"Shhhhush, fuck, bitch, stay still or you'll rip yer pretty dress," the Dornish woman hissed, grabbing her knife and jabbing it through Reyne's hand.

 

Rayne screamed against the leather gloves and watched the blood seep onto the dirt road, the pain unbearable.  Tears dropped down her cheeks.  Eventually, the Dornish woman was able to work Reyne's dress off of her.  The dornish woman smiled in glee.  "Ya!  No blood on this one!" she squealed in joy.  She leaned down and tore off Reyne's jewelry and stuffed it all into her pockets.  "Damn, boys, this was worth it.  Steal all the loot off the thieves, then pick off the nobles that get cocky enough to come out without escorts," she snorted, "Gotta listen to ye more, Nerem.  Turn 'er on 'er back though.  Don't wanna get blood on the rest o 'er."

 

She didn't even realize what the Dornish woman had meant until she was on her stomach and she felt the cold steal of the knife sink into her throat.  She screamed, but it came out as a gurgle.

 

The last thing Reyne Rowan heard was the sound of the Dornish woman cackling in delight.

 

==========

 

"Oh, and her horsie, too!  A horsie!" Aleida squealed, happy about her new dress.  She'd been waiting so long for a dress that didn't get covered in gore in the process of acquiring it.

 

Nerem shook his head. "No," he larger man said, "It's a white mare, m'lady, too recognizable.  They'd track you too quick."

 

"They can track me all they want, 's MY horse, MY dress," Aleida scrunched up her face and kneeled down to start dragging the noblewoman into the woods.  "'Nd now this is MY skin!" she slipped her knife under the anonymous noblewoman's skin and started skinning the bitch.  She'd been making a dress, see, and it was of the finest and rarest material.  Human skin was the most expensive and she was surprised the rest of the nobility hadn't caught onto the new trend she was starting here!

 

"Lady Aleida, please, we have to go before a patrol finds us," Osgrim said, looking tiredly over his shoulder.

 

The Dornish woman pouted and took the skin she'd already managed to flay off and rolled it up and gave it to Nerem, who put it in his back with the rest of the skin she'd saved up to tan into leather later.  "Fine.  Get some wood and burn the bitch.  Give back to th' lord what we took."

 

Osgrim raised an eyebrow.  "Here?  In the middle of the fucking Roseroad?"

 

"No, in my bloody fucking cunt.  Of course 'ere on the Roseroad, you fucking halfwit piece of goat shit," Aleida spat.  "... We'll leave the horse."

 

The pair of sellswords met gazes for a moment and in that moment they acknowledged how insane the woman they served was.  And they decided that they had yet to really care, as long as there was some gold in it and a few good fucks out of the crazy bitch every once in a while.  There was never a dull moment.

 

"I'll gather the wood," Nerem declared.

 

"What ya be doing that for?  Just string the bitch up to a tree and set it alight!" Aleida raged.

 

And so in some amount of time they managed to string the Rowan girl up to a tree and set it alight.  It didn't take too long.  Lady Aleida kneeled before the fire and said a prayer to her god and they moved on.

 

When they started hearing the patrols nearby, Aleida veered off into the woods and started sprinting while her sellswords did their best to follow her.

 

"You fucked up, m'lady," Osgrim shouted after her.

 

"You shut yer whore mouth!" she jeered back and ran faster.


	2. Noranne

The night was dark, as night usually is, but even though certain folk will try to tell one that it’s full of terrors, Noranne always thought that such thinking was foolish.  Not once in her sixty-odd years had she seen a true terror emerge from the dark, not even at the Dreadfort where she now found herself.  Well, she didn’t really find herself there; she more stole herself.  She wasn’t herself here and neither was her companion.

Her lady “Arya” was seated in front of her as Septa Noranne brushed the knots from her hair and Noranne ignored her when she accidentally introduced herself as Jeyne the first time they met.

Noranne had come from the area around Dreadfort.  She’d grown up there as a girl before becoming a Septa and remembered the when Roose's father was the Lord of the Dreadfort.  Noranne was just a decade older than the Lord Roose and she remembered the day he was born.  She had no recollection of his childhood years, however, since she had left to become a Septa before the babe could walk.  She’d kept in contact with family by letter, and the holy woman could still remember the rage that had caused her to shake when she received word of what had happened to her sister’s granddaughter.  Oh, young little Sara, they say she gave such a fight that he named one of his dogs after her.  Oh, little darling Sara…

Jeyne “Arya Stark” Poole winced and Noranne realized she’d ripped through the tangles a bit too harshly.  The Septa said an apology and continued to brush gently.  Heavens knew that the girl did not need any more abuse than what she already suffers and will suffer.

The Boltons had not been expecting a pair of Septa, but Noranne and Jord had stuck with the plan insisted that they were a wedding gift of sorts, a sign of good will from the High Septon who would see the eventual children of the Warden of the North and his son well raised.  It was a lie, of course.  Jord, her companion, was actually a Septon.  If Noranne had a copper for every time she had to adjust the man’s habit, she’d be an inappropriately wealthy Septa.  He’d come along for her protection, mostly, but figured that he’d end up filling in as the Septa for “Arya’s” children and that she’d end up tailing after Lady Walda, but when it came down to it, Noranne insisted that Jord take the role of taking care of Lady Walda. 

Jord’s concern with that arrangement was that he’d come into contact with Lord Bolton and his identity would be discovered.  Jord wasn’t exactly a waifish man by any standard.  He was a thick man and stood a head taller than she stood.  The bulky Septa’s robes did wonders, and to the average person, Jord seemed like nothing more than a tall, fat Septa.  Roose Bolton was a smart man.  He probably realized that Jord was a man the moment he saw him.  Noranne wasn’t going to scare him, though.  She warned him to be wary and not do anything the Lord Bolton could interpret as disrespectful.  If the Lady Bolton went into labor, Jord was to fetch her or the maester, but preferably her, and keep the maester close by in case Lady Bolton had a boy and they’d have to fend off… _him_.

Oh, the one she so despised, despite herself.

Another little whimper of pain came from Jeyne and Noranne apologized with a little laugh and made a comment about the state of the lady’s hair.  Jeyne gave a weak laugh in response before falling quiet again.

This child had seen so much hardship, and so had the other one… the boy eunuch.  She’d asked his name once and he’d told her his name was Reek.  She’d laughed at that and commented that while he did seem to be in need of a good bath, she’d asked for his name, not a nickname.  The boy had replied with a muttered apology and repeated that his name was Reek, Ramsay’s Reek.  Noranne took a moment to realize the boy was missing two fingers on one hand and white was beginning to streak through his dark hair.  He was so scarily thin, so frail…  Noranne didn’t speak to the boy Reek much after that.  She’d chased down Lord Bolton and inquired about the servant boy – since she doubted the bastard would tell her since he was obviously the one who convinced the boy of his new name – and after working her innocent, wise Septa charms, Lord Bolton hesitantly informed her that the thing that followed his son like a lapdog was Theon Greyjoy.

Noranne would give the poor boy some food whenever she could sneak it.  Small chunks of bread or a piece of fruit or some little pastry, anything the boy could scarf down without his master seeing.

She began to twist Jeyne’s hair into a braided crown when the girl finally spoke.  “I’m not a _child_ , I don’t need a Septa, I should have a handmaiden,” the girl said softly with a spark of impudence.

“Have I wounded your pride, my dear?”  Noranne questioned with a chuckle.  “I’m here for your safety and for the sake of your unlikely children.  I’m certainly a maiden, dear, so you can call me your wizened handmaiden if you fancy.”

“Unlikely?” she parroted.

Septa Noranne frowned.  “I don’t want to scare you, child.  Who knows?  Perhaps Ramsay Bolton will be kind to his wife.”  Perhaps he won’t end up beating any children out of you before you can birth them.

Jeyne snorted.  “You mean like he was to Theon?”

Noranne’s eyes narrowed and she looked around.  Her eyesight wasn’t all it used to be and the darkness did dampen her senses.  “I’d be careful with that name, dear, young Ramsay might react just as viciously with you as he would with ‘Reek’ for using that name.”  The Greyjoy boy at least seemed to find some safety in that wretched name and Ramsay seemed pleased when he’d conform to it.

The Septa looked through the shadows again and realized that maybe she’d been wrong before.  Shadows could hide so much, friend or foe, or terror…

Not that she'd ever worship Rh'llor!  She was a Septa of the Seven divines!

The saying simply rang true.

* * *

 

Weeks had passed since Lady Reyne Rowan had been murdered on the Roseroad.  The kingdom was in a tizzy about it, declaring that no roads were safe anymore.  Walder Frey was annoyed that the girl who’d been promised as his new young wife was dead before he even got to lay eyes on her.  Some may say he got what he deserved, committing the ultimate sin of killing a guest beneath his roof.  Noranne could agree with that somewhat.  The Seven did frown upon a man who would kill his guests.

She sat comfortably in the solar sipping tea with Jord.  “Your habit is crooked, Jord,” Noranne chimed.

The Septon in disguise laughed, and if he were younger, his deep voice would’ve given him away as a man, but he was old enough that there was enough elderly distortion it could go either way.  “What is that phrase you often say?” he said, reaching into a pocket.  “’If I had a copper for every time I adjusted your habit, I’d be an inappropriately wealthy Septa?’”  He slid a copper piece across the table to her.  “Enjoy.”

Noranne grinned and planted both hands on the arms of her chair to rise just as the door burst open and a flurry of black and pink stormed in.  The pewter teacup hit the stone floor with a resounding ring that echoed with the bastard’s entrance.

Ramsay was clearly furious, and it was the kind of furious that Noranne liked to make an effort to avoid.  She very much enjoyed her skin, as wrinkled and old as it was.  The fury in his eyes waning to that cruel amusement he usually sported, he grabbed old Noranne roughly and started to drag her towards the door.

Jord was on his feet.  “Ramsay Snow,” Noranne held her breath when he used the boy’s true surname, “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, and for a moment Ramsay glared daggers at the not-quite-Septa.

He didn’t dignify the obvious jab at his pride any further and continued dragging Noranne with him.  “You’re going to accompany me on a hunting trip, ever gentle Septa,” he mocked.

Noranne’s brow furrowed.  “What nonsense are you speaking, child?  I’m not fit for your sort of hunting,” she spat back at him.

Ramsay laughed and shoved her out the door, “I doubt there would much fun in hunting a withered old woman, but I thought you’d like to join the search party.”

She didn’t need any more direction and knew to do as told around this boy.  Noranne trotted along beside him the best she could, her creaky old body struggling to keep his pace.  “What search party, child?  You said you were taking me hunting.”

The bastard gave her a look but gave her no answer as he led her to the stables.  In no time at all, she was mounted up on a small, brown mule and surrounded by Ramsay’s dogs.  The bastard had retrieved a hunting bow and ordered the Septa to be sure she didn’t fall behind, or else he couldn’t stop the dogs from getting her, since they didn’t take to kindly to people that weren’t him.  Any other person would be frightened, but Noranne wasn’t particularly threatened by the feral animals.  One of the animals took quite fondly to her, and she’d sneak the beast a bit of meat whenever she went out for a nightly stroll.  Noranne wasn’t sure the beast’s name, but she had a feeling that it could be the one named “Sara.”

Myranda, the pretty young woman that often accompanied Ramsay on these sorts of things, ran up to them as they were leaving the gates.  She was smiling, her own bow in hand.  “My lord, I-”

“If you simply must,” Ramsay said, cutting her off.  “This is my hunt, though.”

Noranne remained intensely confused.  Like most people that resided in the Dreadfort, she certainly knew not to disobey the bastard, but bring an old woman out on a hunt?  Preposterous.  “Who are you hunting, my lord?”  Noranne called out, the slightest bit of sarcasm on the title. 

As much as she hated to call him that, he was still the Lord of Hornwood after he’d taken the castle, forcibly wed and raped the recently widowed Lady Hornwood before leaving her locked in a tower to starve to death (rumor had it that the woman had either had her fingers flayed or she’d eaten them off).  It was moments like these that Noranne liked to remember that Ramsay was the man who raped and murdered her niece.  It felt nice to despise someone so thoroughly.  Maybe there’d be a hunting accident.  Perhaps a tree would fall and no one would warn him and it would crush him.  Maybe he’d get stabbed.

“You don’t know?  Well isn’t that a turn of events.  Since you were so fond of it, I thought you’d notice its absence first.”

Noranne went cold.  The boy.  The Greyjoy boy.  They departed the Dreadfort and proceeded into the woods, the dogs barking something fierce.  She averted her gaze from the bastard and focused on directing the mule through the foliage and making sure the beast didn’t hurt itself trying to keep up with Ramsay, Myranda, and the dogs.  She ended up falling behind enough that when the shouting began, it was a surprise.

Wondering if she really wanted to witness whatever was happening, Noranne lingered until she heard the unfamiliar shout of a man.  She coaxed the mule forward and came across an area by a small brook.  She could still see blood caked on a nearby tree from a recent hunt.

Ramsay had only told her that the Greyjoy creature had escaped.  He had said nothing about the other girl.  Noranne had seen her before only a few times.  Kyra, she thought the girl’s name was.

The thing that made this entire encounter so unique was that someone else had gotten to them first.  A pair of sellswords and… a woman that looked like some sort of Dornish prostitute turned highwaywoman had found the escaping pair before the hunting party.  The Dornish woman was already verbally attacking Ramsay, which meant she was either stupid or… no, she was probably stupid.

“This forest is property of the Bolton family.  You’re trespassing,” Ramsay stated, “You also seem to be trying to make off with my property.”

His property?  Noranne noticed the skinning knife against the frightened Kyra’s neck.  The Dornish woman scowled, showcasing missing teeth.  “Who the fuck are the Boltons?” she said, “I found this bitch and the eunuch fair and square,” she insisted, jerking her head towards where a thin, lightly armored man tiredly held onto a frightened Theon.

She was planning on skinning a woman and she’d never heard of the Bolton family.  Amazing.  There were also some interesting implications behind the fact that she knew of the Greyjoy boy’s mutilation.  Had she stuck her hand down there first chance she’d gotten?  What a depraved woman.  Scars and bruises on the hints of exposed skin revealed a woman who loved to fight and probably won many of those fights.  She wouldn’t fare well against a heavily armored opponent, but against someone in normal clothes or light armor she’d likely tear them to shreds.

“You will not harm a hair on their heads,” Ramsay began, “…I don’t care about the whore, actually, but your paramour over there is getting a bit too friendly with my manservant,” he added.

“If ye cared about Ser No-Cock so much ye shouldn’t ‘ave let him get away!”

One of the sellswords, however, seemed to know who the hell the bastard was and valued his hide.  The skinny mercenary immediately let go of Theon and bowed.  “Please accept my lady’s apologies!  She is exactly the brightest star in the sky!”

“The fuck you doing?”  the Dornish woman snapped.  Kyra cried out a bit when the skinning knife bit into her neck, a few streams of red beginning to flow lightly.

Noranne spoke up, “Your lady, boy?  Tell me, of what noble house does this so-called _lady_ of yours herald from?”

He rose and Noranne realized the boy was quite attractive.  He was feminine like the Knight of Flowers but dressed just as rugged as any true warrior would.  If Noranne were forty years younger, she would’ve blushed.  When the mercenary spoke, it was clear he barely took his words seriously and deep down he didn’t believe a word of it.  “My lady is Aleida Sand, an unacknowledged bastard of house Uller born of a prostitute from the Reach.”

The Septa snorted.  “You mean she is a whore.”

The sellsword’s eyes widened and he looked at her with fear, and for a second, Noranne didn’t realize why he was looking at her like that.  Then she heard the Dornishwoman’s battlecry.  Noranne looked just in time to see Kyra sprawled on the ground and this Aleida character charging at her with the knife, only for her charge to be interrupted by a melodic passing of air and a dull thud.  An arrow sprouted from her shoulder.  The bastard girl shrieked and fell, glaring up at the one who’d shot her.

Myranda still held her bow and prepared another arrow.  “Attack a member of the Bolton household again and I will not miss.”  The girl was special.  Ramsay had taken a liking to her, but not in the way he liked Theon or Jeyne.  Noranne wasn’t clear on the details, but she came from Winterfell and was there when the Ironborn took the castle.  She had a specific grudge against the Greyjoy boy, and didn’t seem completely aware of Ramsay’s involvement in the destruction of the fortress.

Ramsay only seemed mildly annoyed.  It didn’t look like anyone was going to die today… except maybe Kyra.  He stepped forward and yanked Kyra to her feet.  He leaned in close, smiled, and told her to run.  Hysterical, the girl stumbled off deeper into the forest, tears streaming down her face and blood still dripping from where the knife had cut her.  He then grabbed Aleida, the girl snapped out of watching him in awe.  The Dornish woman cursed and tried to pull away, but he was stronger than she was. 

“Myranda, take _this_ to Maester Tybald and have him make sure that arrow is out and that wound doesn’t fester.  Have the mercenaries put in the dungeons for now.  I should be done playing with Reek’s little girlfriend before any of them manage to give you trouble.”  He paused.  “And escort our lovely Septa Noranne back to the Dreadfort, as well.  I’m sure the rest of this hunt would be rather distasteful for our beloved holy woman,” he added, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Myranda raised an eyebrow in vague indignation, but complied, taking the bastard woman from Ramsay’s clutches and tugging her along.  The mercenaries were rather cooperative and didn’t give any fuss.

As they traveled back to the Dreadfort, Noranne could still hear the dogs barking.

 


End file.
